CALIGO

Anyone who has driven through fog knows the feeling. The road you take every day turns unfamiliar. Trees appear late. Sounds come from nowhere in particular. You slow down without deciding to.

Fog takes nothing away. It only hides it for a while.

The hill is still there, the house, the bend in the road. They are only covered, and that is enough to make a known place strange.

Heraclitus wrote that nature loves to hide. He was probably thinking of more than weather. But fog is the easiest way to see what he meant: the world is larger than the part of it we can see at any moment.

Life has its own fog. Stretches when we cannot see what is coming and every decision feels like a guess. They are rarely pleasant. They pass too, usually the way fog does. Slowly, from the edges, until one morning the hills are back.

They were there the whole time.